


Waxing Not-So-Poetical

by Highlander_II



Series: kink_bingo: 2010 [11]
Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Waxplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:59:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/pseuds/Highlander_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry's place is dark. It's almost always dark in Harry's place, considering he lives in a basement.</i>
</p><p>Ramirez uses Harry's light sources as inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waxing Not-So-Poetical

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the 'waxplay' space; title inspired by [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=daniidebrabant)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/daniidebrabant/)daniidebrabant.

Harry's place is dark. It's almost always dark in Harry's place, considering he lives in a basement. But it's a different kind of dark. It's a warm dark. There's very little natural light, but plenty of light from the fluttering flames of the dozens of candles set about that he lights when he comes in.

In the winter there's also a fire in the fireplace. Currently, it's not quite winter, so there's not a need for the fireplace. Still need the candles though.

Tonight, however, the candles are being used for more than generating light. Only Harry doesn't know that yet. He also doesn't know that these candles are new and specially designed for the events of the evening.

The place isn't set up in any sort of specific romantic arrangement (though I enjoy romance as much as the next guy, I have something else in mind), but the place is clean and warm-cool, just right. And empty. I never realized how empty his apartment was when he and the dog weren't home. The cat's lurking about somewhere, I guess.

Anyway, there's Coke in the icebox and some of my famous Mexican resting next to it, just waiting to be warmed later. The only thing missing is Harry.

He was out following up on a lead and should be back soon. I hope. I may be young and pretty, but I can't wait forever. At least not without a nap.

Twenty minutes into one of his many paperbacks, I hear Mouse snuffle through the front door and scramble to his water bowl. A few seconds later, the tall, lanky form of Harry Dresden slips in through the door, then shoulders it closed. Someone needs to fix that.

"Morning sunshine," I chirp at him - yes, just to be a little obnoxious. I find it diverting.

He scowls at me and grumbles, "I haven't been gone _that_ long."

I watch him bend over as he opens the ice box to retrieve a can of Coke. The view's nice from this angle. And hearing that refreshed little sigh as he guzzles down half the can is worth any amount of grumbling he might do before that.

"I assume you have plans for an ungainly collapse?" I ask him, putting a little guilt into my puppy-dog eyes.

He grunts. "Don't start that with me, Ramirez. I'm tired."

I roll my eyes. It's 'Ramirez' when he wants to sound like he's in charge. It's only 'Carlos' when he wants something. Or in bed. But we're not there yet tonight.

"Yes, I know. What did you think I'd planned for?" I leave that a little open-ended and wait.

Nothing. Stubborn bastard.

"Look, go get a shower and meet me in the bed." I lightly shove-direct him toward the bedroom so he can get that shower. Mouse nudges my hand for a scratch behind the ears. I can't oblige him for long, I've got a few more preparations to make.

Tall, wet, clean - damn he's sexy when he gets out of the shower. I direct him toward the bed and invite him to lay down - "Face up, bean pole."

He stretches out, feet flopped off the sides because he's so tall. But he looks so good there with the candle light glinting off the beads of water on his skin. I glide a hand over his thigh and feel the muscles shift.

I throw a leg over his hips as I crawl onto the bed. He cracks an eye open at me. I grin at him. I've been looking forward to this for a week.

"Why are you smiling?" he asks, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his eyes close again.

"You up for a little fun before going to sleep?" I ask and slide my hands up his chest, rubbing at his tight shoulders.

He nods. "Umhmm."

I reach for the paraffin candle sitting next to his Mickey Mouse alarm clock. The fact that the man lives by candlelight is interesting. He's got to have the best night vision ever. Wonder if he can see what I'm doing now?

Holding the candle in one hand, I tap his chest with the other. "Harry, wake up."

His eyes pop open. "I'm awake." In the flicker of the candle flames, I see him frown. "What is that?" he asks.

"Candle. Hot melted. Ready." Cheeky double-entendre aside, watching him realize what I have in mind is appealing. I dip a finger into the wax, then brush that finger against his ribs. Most of the wax has cooled on my finger, but he can surely feel some of the heat from it.

"You know, Carlos, I've been burnt already," he says, less mutter than previously. "I'd rather not re-live the experience."

I hold my free hand in the air. "No burns, promise." A point to the bedside table, "Water and ice ready for emergencies."

He squirms. He's still not comfortable with this. I'd expected as much. My patience is boundless. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Carlos." See, it's 'Carlos' now - he's trying to sway me.

"Harry," I place my palm flat on his chest, a warm comforting gesture, "I would never hurt you. You know that." I lift the candle in my hand. "This one is designed specifically for this type of play."

"What kind of 'play' is that?"

"Dribbling wax all over your skin," I tell him matter-of-factly.

He snorts. "Only you could make that sound scary and sexy at the same time." He sighs and relaxes beneath my hips. "Okay, but if I say 'stop,' we stop."

I nod. "You got it."

I'm trying not to move too quickly, but I'm so dammed excited about trying this. I want to feel him get worked up beneath me. I love watching him try to hold on to his control.

The candle - pink because it's the only color I could find – gets lofted a good sixteen inches above his chest. I give it a little tip and watch the liquid wax run over the edge to drip in little drops of pinkness onto his skin.

The first few hit his chest and he lifts himself to his elbows. "Hey -" he says with a hiss, watching the drips

"Okay?" I ask. He nods, so I keep dripping. I swirl patterns on his chest with the wax.

The hissing sounds he makes change when I lower or raise the candle. Lower gets me higher pitched sounds and his hips buck up against me. Raising it takes the sounds down to almost a moan, but much less hip contact.

"Where -sss - did you come – sss – up with this?" he asked between those wonderful little hisses.

"Read it in a book," I reply with a grin. Because I'm a wicked, evil man, I drop the candle as low as I dare and let the wax run off the edge, directing it to drip my name on his skin.

The wax is hot – not burn inducing, but hot – and he definitely feels it. I can tell from the grunted-hissing cry and his long fingers curling around my hips. There's also the very distinct feel of his erection brushing against my ass. 'Love his reactions.

"More?" I ask, wielding the candle over his left nipple.

He nods, panting almost breathlessly at the notion. Watching him ramp up from 'interested' to 'aroused' is almost better than – everything else we do. And I love the things we do.

I tip the candle again and watch the hot wax slide over the edge of the candle. I draw abstract patterns on his tan chest, circling his left nipple before actually dropping a bead of pink wax directly onto the hard little nub. He thrusts his hips straight up against me. Damn, this is fun!

I am a little surprised he hasn't grabbed hold of me yet to fuck me. As worked up as he is, it's what I'm expecting

He's breathing hard through his nose. Panting. Gathering all the air his lungs can get. Then he rumbles, "Put the candle down, Carlos."

"What?" I ask, innocent as you please.

He lets out a deep, almost feral growl, and grabs me by the belt loops. "Candle. Down. Now."

That's what I thought he'd said. "You want my pants gone too?"

He just growls at me again. So, off go the jeans and underpants. I'm not taking unnecessary risks. The candle got set aside while I was asking about the pants. I settle back over his hips and start picking wax off his chest.

There's another grunt, then his hands are gripping my hips, directing me back a few inches. He lets go long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand and slap it against my chest.

I get the message. I know what's up. Fuck, he's sexy when he goes caveman with his speech center.


End file.
